The Gift
by ineffablediann
Summary: This little fic was written for Acelocked for Valentine's 2013. She gave me the sentence prompt:"Anyone who is not confused is not fully informed." I really hope you all enjoy what came about! Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, First Kiss, First Love, Explicit Sexual Content


q

I'm trying not to move  
it's just your ghost passing through,

And now I'm quite sure...

There's a light in your platoon.

I've never seen a light move  
like yours can do to me...

Putting the Damage On ~ Tori Amos

John sat outside on the roof at Baker.

The smallish flat access area was just far enough away from the parlor; one attic and one floor between them. He wanted to murder Sherlock right now, so the space was a very welcome reprieve. That bloody idiot had no clue when to let things lie, no the git had to go and press, to be so damned driven as to drive John right out of the flat.

Fine. Just fine.

John had to calm down before he went back downstairs and caused his own brand of unholy havoc on his closest friend. Boundaries. That is why people had them. Personal space did not exist in the same breath as Himself. Oh no, Sherlock had chosen the one night that was supposed to be for lovers and choose to throw a righteous near-apoplectic fit about John's apparently lax ideas of romanticism.

It was true that this would have only been a first date, but he had a pretty good idea that the sweet nurse wanted exactly the same thing he did for this particular evening. To have a romantic evening that would end in the early morning hours both satisfied and not alone. God it had been weeks...no months since his last disaster, he should have known not to try again. It was just that he had been so lonely. If he were honest with himself it was worse than loneliness. John was pining for a very certain person.

And that person wanted nothing to do with him.  
Well, time to deal with this then. John had enough of this behavior and it had to end. Sherlock would just have to understand that all of this was completely unacceptable. He was past the point of caring and knew this was going to be one hell of a strop, but damn he was furious. Sherlock had to learn that even he, John Hamish Watson, had limits where his patience was concerned.

No, John would pull out all the stops on this one. Being denied companionship on any other night was manageable, but tonight? And what in bloody hell did Sherlock, of all people, know of romanticism at any rate? The man knew John didn't always go for the easy mark. He really thoroughly enjoyed the chase, the wooing, well honestly all the trappings that came with an extended romantic entanglement.

Yet here he was completely denied due to His Humbleness.

Tosser.

As his feet hit the floor of his sitting area, John had worked himself back into a right foul mood. He grabbed the bottom of the attic access and all but threw it to meet the ceiling causing the frame itself to rattle. John knew better, but he couldn't seem to find a care. Honestly, Sherlock could go and faff about elsewhere as far as John was concerned. Wresting the doorknob he piteously yanked his door open growling obscenities underneath his breath.

Wanker.  
Birk.  
Dictator.

Oh, how infuriating he could be.

"SHERLOCK!"

John took the treads with swift military precision reigning in his temper harnessing it for the massive siege of wills that awaited him through the other side of their parlor doorway. Currently, it was darkened, only the fire and the small lamp on John's reading table. Ah, so Himself wanted to set a mood, allow the shadowed room to speak his disdain before he graces John with his rebuke once again.

Not happening.

"Sherlock, we have to talk about this."

The tall figure by the barely illuminated window only shrugged it's response. Apparently he didn't even think that John deserved to even hear his voice at this juncture. Damn him. This was so childish, enough really was enough. Dropping his shoulders, John settled in steeling himself for the long dress-down he was about to give the resident-genius.

"Sherlock. What I do, on my own time, is my own business. It has been ages since I have even attempted to date, let alone carry a long term affair. I thought that this, being Valentine's, you would understand why I had chosen to finally go on a date with that very sweet, engaging, pretty nurse that had been dropping hints for weeks that she was interested. We are both unattached adults who did not wish to be alone today. Yes, sex was most definitely on the table, if she so chose. There is nothing you can say to me that would make me feel anything other than chuffed that someone like her chose to accept my invitation.

Especially tonight of all nights. Look, I'm not getting any younger, and I do have a libido. It is healthy to want sex, to want companionship Sherlock. Why can't you see that? Do you choose, really, to be alone your entire life? You know, that night, I had asked because I was chatting you up. I was not upset that you were disinterested, I respected your choice. Why can't you respect mine?"

"I never said that I did not respect you John. I was trying to convey, before you stormed out, that I was only disappointed in your choice was all." The figure sighed heavily, turning to finally face John. "There are others who would be far better suited for your company."

"I do not have that luxury anymore Sherlock. I have you and this; this mad life I've allowed myself to be drawn into. Now, I'm not saying I regret it, but I am saying that I have needs. I'm human Sherlock. I need company of a physical sort from time to time, surely you understand?"

"John, must you be so base..."

"Damn it Sherlock! I will not have you demean my needs or myself! You may be able to get by on air and adrenaline, but I cannot. No, I will not, not anymore. It is my choice to go spend a night with whomever I choose you daft brat. I can no longer have lengthy relationships, I understand and accept that, but this you will not deny me!"

"I would never deny you companionship, John. There are those that are very close to you that actually crave your comfort as well. That need you in their lives. Why can't you accept that? Look at how crushed Molly was just two months ago, because all this time I chose not to see. Just as you chose not to see now."

"Oh, so now not only am I not observant, I'm now blind. Ta! This takes the cake Sherlock, really."

When had this became about Sherlock? This was about John. Himself, his needs, his feelings. What in blazes was Sherlock on about; it made no immediate sense. There was no one close in their life that seemed even remotely interested in John at all. No, Sherlock was the Sun and he was in no delusion as to where that put himself on the scale. He was definitely missing something once again. Some small piece that had slipped through his observational skills yet again.

"Alright, you tell me then. I'm so blessedly unseeing I apparently can no longer tell when someone is interested!"

Himself had slowly made his way around the perimeter of their sitting room, guiding John's attention to stay on the verbose discussion rather than on where Sherlock was in relativity to his usual escape. Damn the man! He was not escaping this conversation. The look on his face though, when John finally did look into the finally semi-properly lit face of his friend was almost ashen.

This turned something deep within John.

Maybe he had been selfish. Was chasing a skirt more important than his friend? He would have left Sherlock alone.

Alone.

No one to...oh my god...

"Anyone who is not confused is not fully informed, John." Sherlock held steady and proud, his expression schooled into one of deference, then all at once, he allowed it to slip further away letting John in as he rarely does. "Love, it is a very confounding thing, is it not?"

"Damn you, you bastard."

Sherlock is visibly rebuffed, hearing the words more than the inflection in John's voice. He vacillates, visibly torn. John can tell he wants to retreat, but his pride is making Sherlock stay his ground, even if he has been hurt.

Once again, by myself.

Idiot, really, I am.

John makes the decision instantaneously, knows there is no turning back, but no longer sees any way forward but this. If he is going to hell anyway, might as well be paved with good intentions. John steps forward once, just enough to physically make his response known, his acceptance, and gingerly takes Sherlock's wrist in his grasp.

"Stay...I'm an idiot."

Sherlock looks at him with that open child-like expression of understanding. That rare glimpse into the man he has grown to admire, to care for, even above himself. The trace of a smile, softens Sherlock's face, making him look ethereal. He reaches up, ghosting the pad of his thumb across John's slightly parted lips, a small crinkle of concentration showing on his brow.

"John."

Everything slowed. John knew Sherlock was speaking to him but all he could hear was the deep baritone, not the syllables, or the were unimportant. White noise to the background of his beating heart. Oh god, he really was lost to this madman wasn't he? John took seconds to catch back up into the same space of time. When he did he realized he was being presented a gift.

"It is what one does, is it not? Present a token to their Valentine?"

John opened the smallish blue box, not knowing what to expect. What he saw wrenched him to the core. He gently removed the chain from where it was nestled marveling at the craftsmanship of the graduated medallions that hung from it.

"Are these-"

"The top anvil is from the same cartridge as your SIG, the night you saved my life. The middle anvil is from a cartridge that is the same calibre that brought you home, to cross my path. The disk on the bottom is myself; distilled to the most basic information, but never the less, still me."

John looked up to Sherlock, his eyes ablaze. He let go of Sherlock's wrist, stood upright once again, and slipped the gift over his head to settle above his heart.

"You daft, sentimental fool. Never hide from me again, do you understand?"

There was an edge to his voice that hadn't been there since the bright sands and heat of Afghanistan. The urgency driving it was pure need to feel life underneath his hands. They were itching for it, and John was going to sate their need. The meeting of their lips was not kind, nor languorous. It was ardent, unhinged, desperate movements of mouths against one another. John's next breath being found from the desperate gasp from Sherlock's lungs as they collided into the kitchen table. He reached around forcefully pushing everything off their available surface neither caring as papers, slides, implements went flying to crash to the ground.

"I'm going to have you, right here, right now. Do you understand me?" John growled into Sherlock's ear before assaulting his mouth once again. His hands moving to Sherlock's trousers, John pulled at the thin metal stay before yanking down hard ripping the seam along the zip with a very satisfactory noise that only spurned him further. "I'm going to fuck you into the ground."

John's hands moved with precision, removing both Sherlock's trousers and pants in one go letting them pool at the man's ankles to be kicked away. His hands moved wantonly over Sherlock's exposed hips as John caged him once again. Sherlock, making his own hands useful, swiftly worked open John's belt before jerking downward hard unbuttoning the jeans most of the way down. As they settled loosely he moaned lolling his head backward and panted to John to reach into his front pocket to grab the small sachets within. John rips at the first packet with his teeth spilling the lubrication on his hand before spitting it out of his mouth to land with everything else on the floor.

"You. Are. Magnificent." John grinds out as he haltingly thrust two fingers into Sherlock working his cock as well, insistent in his movements to work him until he begged. With his hands busy John ordered Sherlock to unbutton his own shirt with a gruff command that brooked no argument. Once undone, John attacked Sherlock's chest and neck murmuring supplications working them both to the breaking point. "God how perfect you are..."

"Christ, please John!" Sherlock whined into John's hair as he removed his fingers. John kept his mouth busy roving over the taught alabaster skin as he moved back just far enough to place the condom on. As he urged Sherlock onto his back, placing his legs over John's shoulders, then weighing down Sherlock's hips, John held himself steady up against him.

"Sherlock...eyes on me, I want to see you." Applying incessant pressure, John reveled in the final slow stretch until Sherlock's body finally gave. John gave no purchase continuing until Sherlock was fully breached, panting the view in Sherlock's shirt and coat long forgotten were completely askew constricting his movements. Love bites littered his beautifully flushed neck and chest. His eyes were alight and followed John's gaze to where they were pinioned together. Testing the waters, he pulled out just enough to make Sherlock sob with need once again.

Perfect.

"Pleas-" John did not even allow him to finish the word, searing his mouth to Sherlock's he set a ferocious pace to wring everything out of the man beneath him. He had waited so long without even knowing he wanted this so terribly. They met, becoming each other's oxygen, never knowing all they needed was one tiny catalyst to set them ablaze.

Now, they were this.

On fucking fire, the house could burn with them, and they'd gladly continue in hell for all they were worth. Sherlock felt so blessedly responsive, he rucked him up a bit higher on the angle until he screamed. John moved within him mercilessly, caught up in the feeling of possessiveness, needing to stay inside Sherlock. Reveling in the tight heat, knowing he was the one stretching Sherlock, making him cry out, it was all too much.

"That's it, let go for me," John urged, tender yet assertively. John worked the new angle slapping harder, rocking Sherlock's hips in his hands in full control of their situation. "Need you to, want to see you first."

"John, I can't!"

"Yes, you can. Will. Now." He stated with a fierceness. John ratcheted up, almost leaving Sherlock completely before thrusting back as hard as he was begging for a few thrusts before impaling him; going balls deep before he held, shallowly stroking with swiftness flying until Sherlock clenched against him as he came. Two more very shallow movements had John spent as well.

Later, deep into the night, the two were comfortably wrapped in each other on Sherlock's bed. They were listening, whispering what hadn't yet been said, what wanted to come to light in the intimate space of this newness.

"Thank you for saving my life." Sherlock reached up and gently stroked John's neck, following the chain now around it.

"No Sherlock. Thank you for giving me a new one with you."

FIN


End file.
